Published in: Paris pendant la guerre, Paris, Les Presses universitaires de France, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1926 (Publications of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace), p. 69-87.

 

The war in Paris as it was day-to-day — How it affected the city, including centrifugal and centripetal population movements and the development of role of women — Paris as a vast charity organization, a shared Allied capital, an immense arsenal for armament manufacturing, a center for patriotic ceremonies, a city submitted to air raids and long-range cannon-fire — Economic phenomena, including taxation, rationing, and municipal intervention — The aftermath of the war, including an accelerated influx of people, the demolition of the city’s military fortifications, increased industrial presence, and the city’s status as the home of nations.

 

Over the years, war has frequently played a substantial role in shaping change in the city of Paris. The Revolution and the Empire propelled the city into the industrial era, while forcing France, which was fighting against the outside world and therefore deprived of maritime connections, to become self-sufficient. The First World War accelerated the pace of industrial development in the region, causing parts of the city to resemble a vast industrial zone. By November 1918, industry was employing as many as 300,000 members of the workforce, including the vast Renault and Citroën manufacturing plants. The city’s industrial character also profoundly influenced the region, particularly the suburbs that ring the city. The March 6, 1921 census—the first complete census since the beginning of the war—reflects these developments. Compared to an earlier census in 1911, the population had increased by only 18,362 by 1921 (out of a total population of 2,906,472—an increase of 6.2 per 1,000), while in the same ten-year interval, the suburbs expanded from 1,265,932 to 1,505,219 inhabitants, an increase of 239,287 habitants (18 per 100). This figure included an increase of 139,869 in the Saint Denis arrondissement and 99,418 in the area surrounding the town of Sceaux.
Industry had not represented a prominent feature of the urban landscape of Paris until the Great War, when it really came into its own. The Renault facilities in Billancourt, for example, covered fifty hectares and provided every conceivable service to employees, from dining halls to health facilities. The Citroën compound on the Quai de Javel inside the city limits encompassed over twelve hectares, eight of them constituted by buildings. Never before in modern times had an aspect of economic and social life become so dominant, assuming a role similar that played centuries earlier by monasteries. Factories, along with the vast array of social and economic factors that depend on them, truly became a major feature of the urban environment and nearly transformed the city into a section of the front during the brutal years of the war.
From the first days after mobilization until the Armistice, the feverish pace of industrial development dramatically altered the appearance of the city and exerted a lasting impact on its landscape. In retrospect it seems clear that the launching of an urban revolution coincided with the first days of hostilities in August 1914. The mass exodus of young men who filled the railway stations in answer to the call of an imperiled nation symbolized their individual destinies but also that of the city. Rude’s sculpture on the Arc de Triomphe evoked the threshold of the new era, as the young men’s hearts pounded at the idea that the “day of glory has arrived,” even as their good-byes left saddened hearts among the family members left behind.
The atmosphere along the boulevards, the heart of a city so recently stirred by the various fund-raising Days, became more sedate during what turned out to be a beautiful summer. The excitement of the preamble to war slowly faded. Families and residents had quickly hid money on the eve of mobilization, and long lines of people in front of the Bank of France were just one indication of a well-known wartime economic phenomenon, although the circulation of small-denomination banknotes helped remedy the crisis. As soon as these lines began to shorten in late July, other lines took their place as Parisians concerned about food shortages lined up in front of grocery stores like Potin and Damoy. At the moment, everything they needed remained available, and prices even dropped.
The city seemed to languish—traffic slowed, buses no longer barreled down the streets and requisitioned cars, ready to depart at a moment’s notice, lined up along the Esplanade of the Invalides. The diminished traffic noise gave the impression of being slowly suffocated, as did the disappearance of the bateaux-mouches from the illustrious river reflecting the splendors of Paris. Theaters were ordered closed (August 3), while cafés and restaurants were soon forced to close at eight o’clock in the evening (August 4). Paris no longer seemed to be itself. A lack of men forced women to work as ticket punchers on the tramways and the Metro or on the North-South railway line. Suddenly, workingwomen, a harbinger of the future, were everywhere in the city’s streets and shops.
A pervasive sense of emptiness nevertheless overcame the city after those who could leave attempted to evade a potential German invasion by filling—and emptying—the railway stations. Their exodus had a tragic air, with people standing in line for hours in the stations and squabbling over their place in line. When traveling by rail was impossible, people resorted to any means of transportation available. They marched with their possessions down the highways, just as humanity has done since ancient times in flight from the horrors of barbarian invasions. Even artworks were evacuated to the provinces. Refugees were streaming into the city from invaded or threatened countries, adding to the gloomy atmosphere in the railway stations, which became key locations in desolate upheaval of mass flight, a story as old as humanity itself. The exodus from the city was matched by a mass influx of people, creating chaos and disorder throughout the fabric of urban life. Paris had experienced similar ebbs and flows of people during previous periods, such as the latter part of the Hundred Year’s War, permanently changing the city’s face. It was the immediate future that people were thinking about during those August days, however, as the softness of the summer sky mirrored the calm of the city, procuring a strangely peaceful sensation despite the battles raging nearby. As they walked in traffic-less streets during those magical summer evenings, people’s steps could be heard from far away as Parisians chatted quietly outside their homes. On some evenings during preparations for the Battle of the Marne, African soldiers were seen marching down the Boulevard Saint Michel towards their destinies, passing sidewalks and windows jammed with onlookers. They were greeted by unending rounds of applause under starlit skies where giant bird-like objects—the Tauben—began flying on August 30. Despite the devastation and slaughter that they spread as they flew over the city, Parisians’ followed them with quintessentially Parisian curiosity even as anti-aircraft fire aimed as the beastly things crackled from atop the higher buildings. This was the first time that Parisians were specifically targeted by aerial bombardments.
During that same month of August, queues first formed in the streets and in front of administrative buildings, where people patiently waited in line for military family support payments. The endless comings and going in and out of these buildings confirmed their importance to wartime daily life in the capital. A census of the population was under way at the time, and there was growing concern about how many mouths there would be to feed as the war unfolded. The enemy was getting closer to the city, although this was a fact of which Parisians were not completely aware. There was no mass panic or social upheaval, even on the morning of September 3 when the new military governor, General Gallieni, issued this terse but unambiguous message: “Army of Paris, Inhabitants of Paris. The members of the government of the Republic have quit Paris to give new life to national defense. I have been given a mandate to defend Paris against the invader. I will pursue this mandate to the end.” The American ambassador, Myron Herrick, was preparing to safeguard the city’s artistic heritage. Something enormous seemed to be weighing on people’s souls. It was all the more tragic that Paris had never looked so lovely amid the calm that reigned over the city that radiant summer. Like in 1814, and like in 1870 and 1871, was fate going to be realized? Life was not in suspension, and people continued to go about their business. In leisure moments, they strolled out to the fortified city gates, which were defended as best they could be and where people were not allowed to circulate freely. Beautiful trees near the gates were felled. On September 3, the Bourse [the Paris Stock Market] closed after official transactions ended the previous day--just one more urban institution suspending operations. A splendid revival effort succeeded, although the subsequent sense of relief was delayed, when Gallieni’s genius yielded a French victory in the Battle of the Ourcq, where requisitioned Paris taxis played a key role by ferrying troops. Gallieni, the defender of Paris, noted “the calm, resolute attitude of the people of Paris...as the enemy approached the capital.”
A German pullback, announced after another victory at the Marne, had significant impact on daily life in Paris, although this was not apparent at the time. Tauben resumed bombing Paris in late September and early October—one bomber even managed to damage Notre Dame. Paris began to look like a sister of charity, an impression that would last the rest of the war, as the city transformed itself into a gigantic charity supporting the front. On October 13, a 1,200-bed military hospital opened in the Grand Palais on the Champs Elysées. On October 21, the national railway company launched the first medical train. Train stations offered shelter to every one stranded by the war, welcoming them with open arms like the city itself. A series of portrait photos taken in major railway stations—the Gare du Nord, Gare de l’Est, and Gare de Lyon--between 1914 and 1918—reveals the amount of human tenderness that was able to permeate even the landscape of iron, smoke and deafening noise that connected the capital to the rest of the world.
The city was festooned with every variety of charitable organizations, each devoted to assuaging a specific war-related cluster of miseries. Parisian women gracefully donned nurse’s uniforms and tended to the ever-increasing numbers of wounded, easing their pain with their delicate attentions and gracious smiles. At every level of Parisian society, women—the true representatives of Paris—were full-fledged combatants who took care of or prayed for husbands, sons, or brothers, conducted business, manufactured ammunition, or supported their families in some other way.
Another visage of Paris during the Great War also appeared—Allied officers and troops, either passing through or sojourning in the city. Their often-colorful presence in the streets was initially limited to British and Belgian soldiers. The arrival of General French at the Gare du Nord on August 15, 1914 was an important date in Paris, and people from throughout the vast British Empire, as well as Belgians, Italians, Serbs, Americans, and of every conceivable origin paraded through the streets, which took on the strange physiognomy of a home to every one of the world’s nations. Each of these many groups eventually congregated in specific parts in the city, with buildings and specialized offices or other locations assigned as headquarters for their organizations. Being so near the front meant that Paris functioned as a capital for the Allies, a status that left permanent marks on the city and lent the city a far more cosmopolitan atmosphere than before the war.
Theaters partially reopened in late November 1914. The Comédie Française resumed Thursdays and Sunday matinees on December 6, although it remained closed in the evenings, and the Sorbonne opened for wartime charity fundraisers and benefits, including the Fraternal Charity of Artists, which held a benefit matinee on November 30. On December 7, the Bourse reopened, although for cash transactions only. The government returned from Bordeaux to Paris on December 8 after seeking refuge there since September 2. The city returned to its function as the capital of France. Some Parisians who had fled returned, while a steady stream of refugees added to the population. People settled into a war mentality as it became apparent that the entirely new trench warfare meant that the war was going to last for a good while.
The Belgians were Parisians’ favorite among the Allies because of their heroic attitude and their ill fortune. On December 10, the city opened a ward of the Hôtel Dieu to care for wounded Belgian soldiers. On the December 20, Belgian Day initiated a series of fundraiser “Journées” [days] that continued for the rest of the war. With their individualized badges and posters and staffs of busy young women fundraisers, the Days contributed a bit of color to the wartime atmosphere.
Winter draped the city in a blanket of frozen fog and mourning, reinforcing the sense of mourning in the hearts and minds of the population. People suffered from the cold and inclement weather, and also on behalf of those whom they knew were mired in the far deeper miseries of the trenches. There was little joy in the peal of the Christmas bells that marked that grand annual feast, tied to the noblest human sentiments but celebrated that year in the midst of savage combat in which men behaved like wolves towards each other. Many Parisian families had empty chairs at their tables that Christmas.
People went to the Invalides to look at flags and other war trophies seized from the enemy. One of the most ancient traits of Paris, its martial bearing, became increasingly evident. The city’s military character has historically been easily seen on the west side of the Left Bank where the Invalides rises up like a symbol of national glory and where, further west, the Ecole Militaire just before the Champ de Mars also symbolizes the city’s—and the nation’s—warrior past. Another nearby location, the Eiffel Tower, performed a crucial function as a wireless telegraph antenna, a hugely important role unforeseen by its builder.
As the war dragged on, the city’s responsibility for supporting the troop’s material needs increased. Paris became transformed into a vast arsenal, as manufacturers of military equipment and ammunition of every description went into operation. The working population of greater Paris numbered 61,000 souls in January 1915, more than doubling to 144,000 by April 1916. Women found work easily in the new martial economy, as the war industry pulled everyone it could find into its hungry maw. The higher wages paid by the war industry and the numerous social charities created to benefit industry employees emptied many households of women, and the number of women working in the factories surpassed the number of men. To meet the needs of these women employees, factories offered nurseries, child-care centers and breast-feeding rooms. Social life adapted, as it often does, to economic conditions. These changes represented yet another alteration in daily life that would have long-lasting implications, just as resorting to foreign labor increased the city’s cosmopolitan air. Europeans from neutral countries as well as Africans and Asians recruited to feed an almost limitless need for labor that was sure to increase blended in with the population of Paris. It is important to consider these developments from the point of view of the permanent changes that in the urban landscape that they represented. It is conceivable that the very soul of Paris was forever changed by changes in the labor force during the Great War, as well as its physical appearance…and its physiognomy.
Daily ceremonial parades were held on the Esplanade or Court of Honor at the Invalides, the military heart of Paris, reflecting France’s military might and glory onto the city. For months, daily press communiqués had been part of Parisian daily life, and there was a map in every household with small flags indicating the deadly front. The civilian population never stopped thinking about the soldiers fighting so ardently to defend them. On February 7, 1915, the Touring Club organized the Day of the Cannon 75, and charitable activities marched onward indefatigably and efficiently. In Versailles, which Parisians think of as a fancy suburb, a sale of bouquets of violets on March 21 raised money for the Prisoners’ Clothing Charity. At night, the fantastic shapes of Zeppelins were visible for the first time in the Paris skies. Stories about acts of heroism reported in the newspapers warmed people’s hearts, reminding them of what was taking place just over the horizon. Military citations for bravery took on the extraordinary brilliance of a sword blade raised high and glinting in the luminous sky. The law establishing the Croix de Guerre [the War Cross, a prestigious national military medal] was passed on April 8, 1915.
Religious feelings were awakened in people’s breasts as beliefs as old as mankind were rekindled by the war. The vaults of the city’s churches appeased the people kneeling and praying. One of the most emblematic images of Paris during the war was a photograph taken in mid-1918  showing candles burning in front of an ancient Virgin Mary sheltered in a niche in the lovely Cour du Dragon. Any effort to understand the psychology of those days in Paris should take these expressions of religious sentiment into account.
Museums and exhibition halls displayed artwork that matched the spirit of the times. A show of paintings by Henri Regnault opened at Bagatelle on May 2,1915; Regnault died in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 on the field of honor. An exhibit at the Petit Palais on the Champs-Élysées exhibited tapestries from Reims and objets d’art from Belgium as well as art works to be raffled for various war charities (May 12). And at the Jeu de Paume in the Tuileries gardens, a show of army artists was held on May 18. Italy entered the war on the side of the Allies and, foreshadowing future developments, a solemn homage to French writers in the United States was held at the Sorbonne on May 29. All spring, Italian flags floated everywhere, a symbol of new hope on the wind. Specialized “Days” continued to follow one another—French Day on May 23 and 24, followed by War Orphans’ Day on June 27, Paris Day on July 13 and 14 and the Day of the War Wounded, also called the Journée des pochettes on September 26. Also on July 14, the ashes of Rouget de Lisle, the immortal writer of the Marseillaise, were solemnly transferred to the Invalides, as the Champs Elysées, crowned by the Arc de Triomphe, resumed its role as Triumphal Road for the occasion.
The city continued to be affected in a thousand ways by the nearby war, and city’s valiant character rose to each new challenge. A Muslim hospital was opened in Neuilly on July 9, and on August 13, the Muslim Home for African soldiers opened at the intersection of the Boulevard des Italiens and the rue Le Peletier. In October, a Dutch hospital was installed in the Pré Catelan, and a Danish hospital moved into the Galliera Museum.
In July, a program encouraging people to trade gold for banknotes created an unusually lively atmosphere at the Banque de France. People received certificates honoring their gold deposits, and families preserved them scrupulously. The monetary problem coincided with the need to rapidly develop an arms industry while also ensuring food supplies for the population. The effects of these changes on Paris were easily observable. An explosion at a grenade factory located at 174, rue de Tolbiac on October 20 called attention the city’s status as a veritable arms magazine, and long lines in front of coal vendors early in the winter of 1914-1915 hinted at the shortages and hardships to come.
Christmas 1915 was designated the Journée du Poilu [Infantryman Day], based on the term poilu [a hairy man or ill-shaven soldier], a nickname that entered history in the same way as the label grognard [an old grouch or veteran] had under Napoleon Bonaparte. This was one of the thousands of ways that Paris demonstrated that it was warmly with the soldiers on the firing line and in the trenches. Mimi Pinson’s graceful exhibition of cocades and insignia at the Petit Palais, which opened on November 11, 1915, was just one more way in which Paris expressed solidarity with the troops. That same month, the city’s defensive gates received permission to remain open until midnight for cars instead of 10 pm, and on December 9, the Opéra re-opened its doors.
In late 1915, the first National Defense Loan program was launched, with a 5% fixed interest rate, highlighting yet another distinctive aspect of the Parisian character. As a series of national loan programs caused the public debt to grow, the walls of the city were covered with posters exhorting citizens to participate in the loan programs. The state borrowed money at a 5% rate again in 1916, then again at a lower interest rate of 4% in 1917 and 1918 (reflecting a lower prime rate). A wide range of innovative marketing strategies complemented the posters that encouraged citizens’ to pony up their savings for the loan programs. In 1917, a Zeppelin gondola served as the bureau where people could sign up to contribute to the loan program, and the following year, it was a submarine moored in the Seine near the Concorde bridge.
In their own unique way, the walls of Paris told the story of the war as it evolved from one day to the next. Along with white administrative notices, there were original compositions and occasionally real works of art, such as Poulbot’s posters promoting Paris Days. The city’s artistic life, like its intellectual and moral life and day-to-day material existence, managed to keep pace with events as they unfolded.
The Scottish Hospital started welcoming patients at 7, rue de la Chaise in 1916, and in January, the Free Military Hospital of the Danish Mission opened at 3, rue Louis-Boilly. The Michelham Hospital at the Astoria Hotel then opened in July, and the Edith Cavell Hospital-School for French professional nurses was inaugurated in October at 64, rue Desnouettes. In June, a professional reeducation center for disabled soldiers opened inside the Grand Palais, and on July 6, a preparatory school, dining hall, and child-care center began welcoming patients to the Hôtel Biron, a handsome eighteenth-century mansion. An Arab village opened on July 29 outside of Paris in Ballancourt, in the Department of Seine-et-Oise, an unusual development in the noble and gracious landscape of Paris and its surroundings. Like in 1915, commemorative ceremonies and different celebrations honored both the living and the dead. Friends, like the Dutch designer Raemaekers, as well as allies, like Prince Alexander of Serbia, were ceremoniously received at the Hôtel de Ville, and in February and March, the Serbian national holiday was celebrated at the Sorbonne on January 27 to honor the country’s heroism. A Day honoring courageous, unfortunate Belgium was organized on March 11, and the tragedy that had befallen the Armenians was solemnly observed on April 9, as were the soldiers who had given their lives for the Nation on November 2. The major religions represented in the city rallied to the same patriotic themes, and in May, services were held at Sainte Chapelle, at the Temple at the Oratoire, and at the Synagogue on the rue de la Victoire, in memory of the lawyers who died defending the country.
Like in 1915, there were art exhibits and shows related to the war around the city, including an exhibit of Raemaeker cartoons and drawings on February 10, of Duvent’s watercolor war scenes in April, and, on May 5, a raffle of Chinese and Japanese artworks to raise funds for Alsace-Lorraine by the charity “La Renaissance des foyers en Alsace” [The Rebirth of Alsatian Homes]. A show of Belgian art opened on May 19, and another show of works by disabled veterans opened on May 20; the Salon of the Armies opened on December 21. On May 28, the Tuileries gardens hosted a benefit for Memory of France and its Sailors and, on July 16, a Patriotic Day to help widows and war orphans was held by the Union of French and Allied Families. The Tuileries gardens, a natural urban area within the elegant setting of Paris, lent its verdant charms to occasions demonstrating the profound compassion of Parisians. The sequence of dedicated “Days” continued, with Franco-Serbian Day on June 25, Paris Day on July 14 and National War Orphans’ Day on November 1 and 2.
As the capital of the Allied Forces, Paris hosted the first Allied political conference on March 27 and an Allied economic conference a few months later on June 14. Russian Parliament members visiting in May were received at the Hôtel de Ville, and in July, members of the Parliaments of the British Dominions were welcomed. That same month, the Scottish Royal Guards orchestra gave concerts at Versailles, and in September, royal Serbian music entertained the city. The world seemed both closer and larger, as the global conflict widened the horizons of the French Nation. A Slavic Studies Institute was founded in December, and with thoughts of future economic changes after a peace treaty had been signed, was foreshadowed by a show of samples of Austro-German products at the Chamber of Commerce in July. In November at the Jeu de Paume in the Tuileries gardens, there was an exhibit of counterfeit merchandise…also manufactured in Austria and Germany, another facet of the vast contest under way.
Paris started to feel and look like a city at war. A Zeppelin following the Marne River flew as far as the 20th arrondissement to drop a bomb on January 29, 1916. The large explosive devices that dirigibles were able to drop caused 56 wounded and 24 fatalities. The whole city strongly supported the war effort en masse by participating in the nation-wide funeral ceremony for General Gallieni on the following June 1. Paris paid its final honors to its savior in 1914. The funeral cortege carved a stately path from the Invalides to the Gare de Lyon, stopping first in front of the Hôtel de Ville, where troops paraded in the square in front of the General’s bier. In another powerful display of patriotism and military honor, on Bastille Day the President of the Republic solemnly presented honorary certificates to the families of fighters who given their lives for their country (in accordance with an April 27 law) in front of the Petit Palais on the Champs Élysées.
In spite of the war, life went on. On June 1, buses began carrying passengers along the boulevards between la Madeleine and the Place de la Bastille, in nicer buses. On August 1, a new bus line started service between the railway stations at Place Saint Michel and Saint Lazare, and on July 1, the metro connecting Opéra and Palais Royal began carrying passengers. Finally, the North-South line linking Jules-Joffrin with the Porte de la Chapelle was inaugurated on August 23. Metro cars for baggage porters were tested in November, and regular performances at the Paris Opera also resumed—although luxury boxes were closed, and evening gowns were banned.

Life went on, certainly, but it was increasingly difficult. The economic effects of the war began to hit home. Prices rose, and guaranteeing food supplies for the city became a real concern. The prices of meat and everyday staples were posted, as well as a city government announcement on November 16, 1916 that the lighting of shops would be restricted to preserve energy for factories. The appeal to the public concluded “We invite Parisians to be inspired by this measure by imposing savings of fire and light in their homes. If we are forced to ask for further sacrifices, we are certain that they, too, will be eagerly accepted.” The era of unavoidable rationing had begun. Consumption of every daily need was regulated, starting with coal during the winters of 1916-1917. “Some coal?... please take the staircase of honor,” was the legend under a cartoon by Lucien Métivet in the Journal on January 25, 1917 in which a liveried coal-boy dragging two bags of coal was deferentially invited to use an elegant carpeted staircase for his delivery. A Poulbot cartoon with the legend “There’s an imbecile trying to start a fight with the little coal-vendor!” showed a mother pointing an insolent child out to his father as he arrived on the scene. Everyone who survived those days would recall events such as the slightly colorful sight of people lining up in front of the Paris Opéra, converted into a site for distributing coal in January 1917. People queuing up for milk, chocolate and other foodstuffs enlivened the streets. Parisian families hoarded ration cards as if they were their most precious possessions. Home consumption was strictly limited, and rationing also applied to restaurants. Forgetting one’s bread tickets when one went out to eat was like forgetting one’s wallet. If you were invited to lunch or dinner at someone’s home, you unfailingly gave the precious little piece of cardboard representing your bread ration to the host. People got used to wartime bread, and they learned to appreciate refrigerated meat, along with another novelty--saccharine in place of sugar. A century after the last time the city was blockaded, a new type of continental blockade affected daily life in Paris. After restricted restaurant menus after the decree of January 25, 1917 came the closing of pastry and candy shops and tea parlors in February, imposing what seemed like a fast in a city with a reputation for offering the world’s finest delicacies. An order from the Police Prefect on February 8—eventually postponed to March 20—even limited the number of shows in theaters, concerts or cinemas to five per week—three in the evening and two matinees. As the war dragged on, its glacial grip on daily existence grew steadily tighter. Sugar ration coupon books became available in March, and gasoline consumption was rationed in April. By May, meatless days were required. Small events triggered price increases. On September 1, the price of a daily newspaper doubled from five to ten centimes, and on October 16, the price of matches went up. Women were increasingly part of the workforce, and on May 30, the first female letter carriers started delivering Parisians’ mail.
An important event occurred in Paris on April 21, when the United States joined the war and the Allied forces. On May 31, an American hospital opened at 6, rue Piccini, and on June 13, General Pershing, commander of American forces, arrived at the Gare du Nord, traveling through streets lined with Parisians to the Crillon Hotel at the Place de la Concorde. On July 3, the first contingent of American soldiers arrived in Paris, and the following day, American Independence Day was celebrated with a military parade at the Invalides. The hearts of the two peoples—the French and the Americans—were joined at Lafayette’s tomb at Picpus Cemetery, and having a new Allied flag flapping in the wind seemed to guarantee that victory would arrive soon. A gracious eighteenth-century mansion with a noble garden at 73, rue de Varenne in the aristocratic Faubourg Saint Germain neighborhood became American military headquarters.
he arrival of the Americans added animation to the Allied capital city. In May, the Allied Parliament met in Paris, and in July, an inter-Allied conference was held. The future reconstruction of devastated regions was the subject of the conference, with an architecture exhibition exploring the question opening in January followed by a second show in May. In July, a rural construction competition opened at the Jeu de Paume, and a variety of other events took place at the Sorbonne, including a meeting of the larger French associations on March 7 and an occasion sponsored by the Maritime League to honor the United States on April 20, followed by a celebration to honor the merchant marine sailors who heroically endured a battle against submarines on December 16, a day to honor of Romania on July 28, and a Christmas Eve Franco-American benefit to raise money for war orphans. Throngs of people went to the great hall at Trocadéro on February 18 to support the endowment of the Canadian Hospital in Saint Cloud, to honor Latin America’s youth on May 12, and to hear music by the British Royal Guard on May 24 in a benefit concert for French cities liberated by the British army. The Royal Guard played again in the Tuileries gardens in May and in June, an Alsatian fund-raiser entertained Parisians. The entry of Allied troops into East Jerusalem in December was celebrated with a Te Deum at Notre Dame and other services in Protestant churches and even Masonic temples. This succession of “Days” also allowed Parisians to celebrate other groups, including soldiers exempted from fighting due to tuberculosis on February 4, Colonial Troops Day on June 10, and Paris Day on July 14, including a stunning flag show in the Paris streets, with every banner from the Légion d’Honneur to the Croix de Guerre. In May, the Paris Fair temporarily transformed the esplanade of the Invalides—a hallowed military parade ground in the times of Louis XIV and Napoleon—into a shopping zone.
In 1918, the effects of the war on Paris became more severe. In 1917, the city had endured few bombings, but in 1918 their impact on the city increased significantly. The Germans had improved their techniques for spreading destruction from the air. The “Gothas,” a newly developed type of aircraft, rained death and devastation on the city during periodic air raids. They made their first appearance during the night of January 30, with 50 aircraft participating in a bombing run over the city that dropped 93 bombs. An additional 14 air raids bombarded the city during the year, some particularly deadly. A raid on March 8 produced 59 victims, of whom 18 died, and another on March 11 resulted in 204 victims and 103 fatalities; on April 12, a bombing raid by a single plane caused 99 victims and killed 27. Other bloody attacks took place on May 22, June 2 and June 28, and finally when 87 bombs pummeled the city on September 15. Almost every district of Paris was ultimately damaged by these attacks.
At that point, on the morning of March 23, the long-range cannon called “Big Bertha” entered the scene, causing alarm in the city. At first, people thought that the giant shells were being launched from airplanes, even though the sky over the city was empty. In the evening, it became clear that a new method for inflicting murder and mayhem on the city had entered the fray. On March 29--Good Friday--a mortar strike at Saint Gervais church killed 88 people and wounded 68. Between March 23 and August 9, Paris and the suburbs endured 44 days of bombardments by Big Bertha, with 181 individual mortar strikes killing 256 people and wounding 625. Between March 23 and June 11, three big guns fired on Paris from an emplacement that were an average of 120 kilometers from Paris, north of Crépy-en-Laonnois. A single gun subsequently fired from an emplacement in Bois de Corbie, 111 kilometers from Notre Dame Cathedral.
In 1918, Paris started to look like a bombed-out city. Official precautions against air raids were imposed--the streets were minimally illuminated in the evenings and the lights in homes could not be seen from the street. As night fell, airborne horrors began and the firing of the big gun cold be heard over the honking of firemen’s trucks racing to extinguish fires and the whine of air-raid sirens. On April 20, four permanent sirens were installed, followed by others on top of important buildings like Notre Dame. Once the sirens sounded, people descended into their cellars, where they could hear the muffled thwump of mortar strikes and the crackle of defensive fire, a small comfort during muted conversations in the darkened shelters. Later, the church bells would ring and the firemen raced past again, this time sounding the “berloque” [all-clear] notifying people that they could safely climb back up to their homes. During these dark times, the people of Paris displayed discipline and level heads. They even got somewhat used to going down into the cellars and made them comfortable by bringing down armchairs, tables and even beds. Meetings never failed to include a bit of gaiety and wit, most basic characteristics of Parisians. Residents living farther down welcomed people who lived on the upper floors of tall buildings, and some of the relationships formed during those dark times survived into peacetime. They were challenging, difficult times that demanded fortitude and compelled Parisians to share the dangers of war but also the honor of resistance.
The frequent muffled booming of Big Bertha forced the city to adopt further security measures. Outdoor public artworks covered in sandbags were one of the besieged city’s more colorful features, including the sculpted doors of Notre Dame, which were thickly wrapped, parts of the Arc de Triomphe, the column in the Place Vendôme, the Opéra, and the Porte Saint Denis, the sculptures by Coysevox at the entrance to the Tuileries gardens, Marly’s horses at the top of the Champs Elysées, and the Triumph of the Dalou Republic at Place de la Nation. Strips of paper, sometimes in decorative patterns, were pasted onto shop fronts and windows to help resist the blast of Big Bertha’s mortar strikes. Underground shelters proliferated, with signs marked “abri” [shelter] sprouting everywhere as well as a number indicating the capacity. On March 24, the Prefect of Police ordered apartment owners to block cellar ventilation shafts in locations being used as shelters. On May 8, the wartime theater “l’Abri” [“The Shelter”] opened in a former cabaret, “La Sirène.” Public art collections were packed in the cellars of the Pantheon or hastily transported south. Schoolchildren were evacuated to the provinces by the municipal government. “There’s good news!” shouted a street urchin in a Poulbot cartoon. “Without their cannons, how would I ever get to see the sea?”
Big Bertha’s muted roar erupted at every hour of the day. On June 6, a committee was formed to defend the entrenched camp encircling the city’s fortified perimeter. On June 14, General Guillaumat was named the city’s military governor, and on the 25th, the Department of the Seine was again made part of the army zone. This was the Germans’ last hurrah. Trains bore the families trying to escape the hazards of bombings and mortar fire. A new exodus was under way, and railway stations were again jammed with people trying to leave the city. Steady, distant cannon-fire bread terror, particularly among people in targeted zones who lived high up in apartment buildings. Like in early September 1914, an overall attitude of calm resolve prevailed during these terrible times. Despite Big Bertha’s thundering, the city’s stalwart inhabitants continued their daily occupations. Finally, though, the second victory at the Marne began the inevitable final onslaught towards victory.
Paris was caught between bombings and rationing, enduring shortages of nearly everything and air raids by “Gothas” and long-range cannon fire. Bread, meat, milk, and sugar were subject to rationing, with each household assigned a general rationing card. High prices were compounded the suffering. On April 1 the price of gas increased. The municipal butcher shop was reopened in May to help alleviate prices. War showed itself in a thousand ways. An explosion in a grenade factory at La Courneuve on March 15 was felt and heard throughout the city and shattered thousands of windows.
At the same time, the Allied capital was a bustling place. In late January, the Allied War Council met at Versailles, and the Allied naval Committee was convened at the Ministry of the Navy in April. An American mission and a British delegation were ceremonially welcomed on May 3, and on August 20, there was a conference of Allied Women in the War Services. In June, a contingent of motorized Belgian cannons arrived in Paris from the United States, via Russia, after voyaging around the globe to reach the front lines. The world seemed shrink as distances diminished. In May, a regular airmail link between Paris and London began service.
The Sorbonne continued welcome ceremonies, including a solemn commemoration on March 1 of legislative protests against German annexation by Alsace and Lorraine. As it entered its fifth year in early August, the war was beginning to feel agonizingly long, and prayer services were held in cathedrals, churches and synagogues. The people had not given up hope entirely, however, and their stalwart faith was soon to be rewarded. The peak of the war was fast approaching as Paris paid homage to heroes and allies with street and place names spread throughout the city: la rue Guynemer, Avenue Galliéni, Avenue du Président Wilson, le cours Albert I, Avenue Georges V, Avenue Victor Emmanuel III, Avenue de Tokyo, Avenue des Portugais, Avenue Pierre I de Serbie (June-July). A model of a monument to the Poilu by the sculptor Sicard was erected on the Champs Élysées on October 16, opposite the Avenue Alexandre III. The following day, a significant collection of German war trophies was displayed on the Champs Élysées. The representations of cities in the place de la Concorde became livelier with a ceremony to celebrate the liberation of Lille was held in front of that city’s statue. At last came November 11, that most auspicious of days. At 11 o’clock, cannon-fire mixed with the peal of the city’s church bells announcing the Armistice. The enormous relief of the moment and the knowledge of what it represented weighed heavy on people’s hearts--it was as though life was suspended for an instant. The streets became hugely animated, as joyous corteges marched along amid collective jubilation. Waves of people flowed along the larger streets as the boulevards took on the colorful aspect that they always take on when Parisians descend en masse into the streets to celebrate an epochal event. The place de la Concorde was overflowing with people wandering amid the war trophies on display. A mute roar like the ocean rose up into the autumn sky, as the whole victorious nation seeming to be singing the Marseillaise in unison. On November 17, the Champs Élysées and the Place de la Concorde were crowded with Parisians applauding the return of Alsace and Lorraine to France--the Te Deum was sung in every church.
As the conquerors’ capital and the heart of the Allied war effort, Paris received visits from the King of England (November 28), the King and Queen of Belgium (December 5), and the King of Italy (December 19). President Wilson arrived on December 14 after he was proclaimed a citizen of Paris the night before, staying at the Hôtel du Prince Murat at 28, rue de Monceau. On January 18, 1919, the Peace Conference opened at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and, on June 23, the sound of cannon-fire and sirens signaled that Germany had agreed to the conditions of the peace treaty. On July 14, victory was celebrated amid clamorous applause and profound emotion and troops paraded from the Porte Maillot to the Avenue de la Grande Armée, proceeding past the vast place de l’Etoile, crowned by the Arc de Triomphe, and descending the Champs Élysées before reaching the Grands Boulevards via the Place de la Concorde and finally, taking the rue Royale to the Place de la République. A few days later on July 28, Paris was collectively awarded the Croix de Guerre by the Order of the Army. “A Capital magnificently worthy of France, motivated by unwavering patriotic faith, valiantly and firmly endured numerous bombardments by aircraft and long-range cannon-fire. From 1914 until 1918, Paris has earned an unalienable claim to unending glory.” On the Place du Carrousel, amid so much French grandeur, the proud silhouette of the statue by the sculptor Bartholomé called Paris in World War I symbolized the city’s proud and resolute soul. Its graceful lines offered a faithful representation of the noble city during these memorable years.
Longer-terms problems resulting from the prolonged devastation did not end in 1919, however. The sugar ration was increased on February 1, but it was not until June 1, 1919 that the bread card was suspended and on January 13, 1921, the coal card was no longer necessary. The coal shortage continued, though, and on February 12, 1919, services that relied on the city’s compressed air network was suspended; on November 21, the city’s pneumatic clocks were stopped. Gas and electricity were rationed in October throughout the city and the Department, and illuminated advertising was banned. The need to alleviate the high cost of living had never been more urgent. On February 15, a municipal kitchen to prepare inexpensive dishes opened in Billancourt. Also in February, a city-sponsored, popular, fixed-price restaurant opened at 72, boulevard de Grenelle. On March 6, the city again intervened by opening the first Vilgrain baraques [low-cost municipal grocery stores that sold staples from former military barracks]. Private restaurants were also serving low-priced dishes called “refueling” meals. In August, it became mandatory to post prices outside restaurants, and on November 29, the first Henri Roy low-cost popular restaurant opened at the corner of rue Réaumur and rue Dussoubs.
But normal Paris life was slowly resuming. Many bus lines resumed service in 1919, and museums reopened, first the Louvre, partially, in January and then completely by May, followed by the Cluny museum and the comparative sculpture museum at Trocadéro on April 1, the Carnavalet Museum on May 2; other urban collections soon followed. Automobile races resumed in May, and the solemn and gracious Paris Grand Prix was held on June 29, following its pre-war rituals. Paris now attracted so many foreigners that it more and more resembled the capital of all nations. The Salon de l’automobile reopened on October 9, followed by the Salon d’automne on October 31 and the Salon de l’aéronautique on December 19. In October, the first decrees ending the official state of war came into effect, as well as the law assigning an official date for the cessation of hostilities.
Paris was at a turning point. It was recovering from of a war having developed and grown both physically and morally. The city was a huge agglomeration encircled by large industrial zones beyond the fortifications that now seemed suddenly outmoded following wartime advances in military design. In April 1919, the first pickax blows started to demolish them, just as the city’s many other needs promoted the need for a reconceptualization of a Greater Paris. Planning this vast urban renewal project was the subject of a competition on August 1 calling for plans and designs for an expanded urban space. Adapting to peacetime, launching peaceable industrial activities using wartime industrial infrastructure, applying scientific advances made for and by the military to improving life in peacetime all influenced the development of the urban organism. There was also clearly an increased concentration of economic strength in the capital, as well an increased sense that people were had become more willing to cooperate, probably an outgrowth of the war. A shift in values became apparent within the city, and, like in other periods of significant urban growth and development, a class of nouveaux riches emerged. The upheaval caused by the war also unleashed wider changes in the composition of the population, including the presence of increasing numbers of people from other countries. The war’s economic and financial aftermath, including inflation and unfavorable currency exchange rates, added greatly to rises in the cost of living. An increase that, combined with shifts in the population fueled an unprecedented housing crisis. The depth of the crisis highlighted the need for a variety of different forms of affordable public housing. Plans were taking shape to transform the city from a congested agglomeration lacking public open spaces and with increasingly congested traffic on roads not designed for cars into an English-style garden city. In addition, the large-scale river-borne activities that supplied the city during the war took on increased importance in the city’s port. Water transportation now seemed inextricably linked with development of the urban spaces and infrastructure. It was in this way that Paris changed because of the Great War. But the ultimate testimonial to the war, inaugurated on January 28, 1921 in the after-glow of victory, remains the tomb of the unknown soldier under the Arc de Triomphe: “Here lies a French soldier who died for the Nation, 1914-1918.”